The words had scarcely left his lips when he experienced a strange sensation. A vise-like grip fell upon his shoulder, and the steel muzzle of a pistol was pressed against his temple. This pistol was held by Dave Farrell, whose teeth were firmly set and whose eyes seemed to emit flashes of light.
“Move a step until I order you, wag a finger even, and you die.”
“What means this conduct?” hissed Rafe, white with contending passions. “Do you mean to murder me in cold blood?”
“Not a bit of it. You see those Indians coming this way, don’t you?”
“What of that?”
“Order them to halt.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Am I to be killed like a dog, you old villain? Why do you stand there like a stone and make no effort to aid me?”
“Better do as Dave asks you, Rafe. It ain’t a bad plan to try the ’speriment.”
“But I know nothing of these Indians.”
“Ef Dave hez made a mistake he’s ter make it right with you,” answered Old Pegs.